


The Rose Well Traveled

by druxykexy



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Awkwardness, Humor, M/M, Romance, sweetheart challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2014-02-02
Packaged: 2018-01-10 21:46:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1164906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/druxykexy/pseuds/druxykexy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s Valentine’s Day on the USS Enterprise. Participation is required. Every member of the crew must give a small, work appropriate gift to at least one other person. Proper conduct should be adhered to at all times.</p><p>There is no reason to make this harder than it needs to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rose Well Traveled

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [RowanBaines](../../users/RowanBaines/pseuds/RowanBaines) for the beta and for the wonderful art. Additional thanks to Chris for the title.
> 
> This was written for the [ Hey, Sweetheart](http://heysweetheart.livejournal.com/) challenge.

 

 

“Why, Bones,” Kirk said, as he accepted the scarlet, foil-wrapped bouquet, “I didn’t know you cared.”

“I don’t care.” McCoy crossed his arms, glowering, and every crease and furrow was spotlighted by the bright interior of the turbolift. “You’re _making_ me do this.”

“Come on,” Kirk clapped him on the shoulder, “you know nothing says loving like some Starfleet sanctioned, disingenuous, mandatory gift exchange and distribution.”

McCoy mouthed several words before he became audible, “…mandatory gift exchange and distribution? You’re spending too much time with old iron bangs. You’re starting to sound like him.”

“It wasn’t a bad idea.” Kirk shrugged. “And it’s good for morale. You care about that, don’t you? It lowers blood pressure, decreases anxiety—” 

“The crew needs a healthy dose of anxiety. Fear keeps them from taking risks, and winding up in sickbay.”

“Spreading fear isn’t really the purpose of Valentine’s Day.”

“Speak for yourself.” McCoy paused, and his eyes widened as he realized what he’d said.

Kirk laughed. “I never thought I’d hear you admit—”

“Not _me_ —other people with their romance, and delusions—”

“But it’s true. You’re an ok guy until someone gives you a medikit, then you’re scary as hell.”

McCoy wasn’t listening. “—And by the time they’re done with you, all you’ve got left is a bottle of Jack, three lifetimes of bad credit, and—”   

“Your bones?”

McCoy snapped his mouth shut, giving one hard glare before he looked away. Kirk knew it was to hide his amusement.

While McCoy was busy demonstrating his non-existent anger, Kirk brought the bouquet to his nose.  They smelled exactly the same as they always did—like roses. He’d never really understood the appeal.

The doors slid open, and together they stepped onto the bridge.

“So why flowers?” Kirk asked.

“M’Benga gave them to me,” McCoy said. “And now they’re yours. I’m done.”

“I’m not sure re-gifting a bouquet captures the spirit of—”

“Fine, you can come up with something better for yours. But don’t give them back to me, I don’t have anywhere to put them.” McCoy gave him a wave that bore a strong resemblance to a shooing motion, before heading in the direction of a hapless ensign.

Kirk chewed on his lip as he considered the very large, very bright bouquet. _He had a point._

And it would be better if they went to someone who appreciated this kind of thing, rather than letting them wither on his console.

Kirk’s eyes were drawn to Spock as his first officer abandoned the captain’s chair to return to his own. He instantly dismissed him as a possibility. Spock was unlikely to want to participate in the human holiday more than was absolutely necessary, and besides, they’d been getting along recently, and he didn’t need to do anything that would change that.

Kirk scanned the crew for a better target, pausing when he got to the helm. Sulu liked plants. Although, roses weren’t exactly the kind of thing he’d want to include in his specimen collection. Then there was Chekhov—but he didn’t know enough about him to know if he liked flowers, or if he was allergic to them, or, come to think of it, he didn’t know much about him at all. He’d need to remedy that. But later.  

Then he spotted the perfect recipient. The roses would even match her uniform.

“Lieutenant,” Kirk said. He smiled at Uhura as he made his offering. “These are for you.”

Somewhere in the background he heard a familiar snort. Apparently McCoy wasn’t giving his job the attention it deserved.

A slight crease appeared on Uhura’s brow as her eyes took in the flowers, lingering on the foil wrapping for a moment before darting to Spock, who was giving careful attention to the proceedings. A look of understanding flickered in her eyes, although Kirk had no idea of what had caused it.

“Thank you, Captain.” She accepted the bouquet with a polite smile. “They’re beautiful.”

“Now, Jim,” McCoy said, abandoning the pretense that any of his focus was on his patient, “you’re going to make Spock jealous.”

Kirk opened his mouth to say, that actually, a ship-wide exchange of insincere romantic gestures was one of the only times it was appropriate to give someone else’s girlfriend a dozen red roses. But then he stopped, because the boyfriend in question happened to be a Vulcan, and sometimes Vulcans failed to grasp the intricacies of human traditions.

And because that Vulcan was rising from his chair.

Kirk did his best to appear as if he wasn’t bracing himself for Spock’s approach. There were too many eyes on him, and he didn’t want any of them to come to the _incorrect_ conclusion that their captain found his first officer threatening.

Spock came to a stop in front of Kirk. He was standing closer than was necessary. Much closer, and somewhere a wire must’ve had gotten crossed in Kirk’s brain so that his body was failing to recognize that this was likely a gesture of intimidation, possibly insubordination, and instead thought events were headed in a better—and more horizontal—direction.

“The doctor’s concern is unfounded,” Spock said, “as I am incapable of experiencing jealousy.”

Uhura rolled her eyes, and Kirk would have laughed except that he could still feel Spock’s breath, crisp and sweet, brushing against his lips.

“Although, for the sake of relations among the bridge crew, Captain,” Spock’s eyes swept over him in a brief assessment, “I would appreciate it if next time you brought me flowers as well.”

Distantly Kirk was aware of a sputtering sound coming from McCoy. Beside him Uhura was chuckling. But Kirk did nothing at all.

Spock made a slight movement, bringing his face even closer. Kirk recognized it as a nod just in time to prevent himself from reciprocating in a way that would have caused bridge-wide embarrassment.

“I am needed in the science labs, Captain.”

Kirk murmured a dismissal that may or may not have been necessary, and Spock walked away.

“What the hell just happened?” McCoy said, in a perfect articulation of Kirk’s thoughts.

“I was surprised to see you with the flowers, Captain,” Uhura said, “after what happened with Spock.”

Kirk shook his head. It was in serious need of clearing. “After what happened?”

Uhura gave him a hard look. “You know, you could have been the brave one. I know he says he doesn’t like romantic stuff, but we both know he’s full of crap.”

Apparently shaking his head wasn’t enough. He had even less of an idea of what she was talking about after that explanation.

“Well lucky for us,” McCoy said, “you’re the only one that has to date him.”

“Date him?” Uhura frowned. “You do know Spock and I broke up? _Months_ ago?”

“You did?” Kirk said, and he winced at the enthusiasm in his voice.

“You can’t tell me you didn’t know.” Uhura released a short, sharp breath. “You’ve been spending time together almost every night, and—”

“Excuse me,” Kirk said, turning away, “this Valentine’s Day thing really has been an excellent way to get to know each other. I think I’m going to give a bonus gift. Hansen, take the conn.”

“Where are you going?” McCoy asked.

“The science labs.”

“Captain, wait,” Uhura said.

Kirk turned, and saw she was holding the bouquet towards him.

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

 

#

 

Now that Kirk knew his first officer was single, he had no intention of wasting the opportunity to test the waters in a manner that was not only acceptably professional, but also easy to deny.

When he found Spock, however, he appeared even more unapproachable than usual behind the red lenses of his protective goggles, and the torch in his hand seemed vaguely sinister.

“Can I help you with something, Captain?” Spock switched off the flame, and pushed the goggles up on his head. His bangs remained intact.

One day Kirk was going to run his fingers though them, and discover the secret of their neatness. Find out if it was accomplished with sensors and wires. Or smoke and mirrors.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Mr. Spock.” Kirk’s grin was cocky as he held out the flowers. “Now there’s no reason to be jealous.”

Spock stared at the roses for a long moment. When he finally reached for them, it was done with great care—as if they were soil samples that first needed to be analyzed for safety.

Kirk was beginning to think that he was the only member of his crew who knew how to accept flowers. Maybe that needed to be addressed. They could run drills. Bouquets would appear at random, and each crewmember’s reaction would be recorded in their file. And for once, Spock’s performance on a test would be abysmal.

It was all he could do not to grin at the image.

“If I understand these customs correctly, Captain, it is expected that I should first read the card.”

 _Card?_ Kirk’s spirit sank parallel to his gaze as he focused on Spock’s nimble fingers plucking a tiny, pink envelope from the foil.

Kirk could see it now—expressed in the surgeon’s messy scrawl, “from one doctor to another,” or worse, “to Dr. McCoy, from your associate, M’Benga.” And with those words his easy to deny, work appropriate, not-quite-romantic-but-open-to-interpretation gesture would be ruined.

Spock read the card silently. When he was done he looked at Kirk, and one eyebrow drifted toward the ceiling.

“Indeed.”

“About the card, see—”

“I was not aware that your regard for me was elevated to such a degree.”

Kirk paused, closing his mouth while his brain spun through the possibilities. There was a chance, if he was incredibly lucky, that M’Benga had written something vague enough to apply to any colleague.  

“You do have your good points,” Kirk said, trying to sound casual.

Spock’s eyes flicked over Kirk’s features. “If I may?” He made a gesture with the card.

It took Kirk a moment to realize Spock was asking permission to read it out loud. He nodded his consent.

“Working beside you,” Spock read, “Sweetheart—”

Kirk gasped. At Spock’s look he forced himself to cough, turning his head to wipe the panic from his features.

“Do you require water, Captain?”

“No,” he pounded himself on the chest, “I’m good.” He forced a smile.

Spock nodded, and resumed reading, starting at the beginning. “Working beside you, Sweetheart, is the best part of my day. I know we’ve had our differences, but my feelings for you will always be the same.” Spock’s expression was unreadable when he finished.

Kirk could only hope the same could be said of his. 

“I believe,” Spock said, as if they were having an everyday conversation, “that a reciprocal gift would now be appropriate, but I have nothing to offer you.”

“That’s-that’s alright.” Kirk rubbed the back of his neck, uncertain how to take Spock’s neutral reaction to the profession of his feelings—even if they were accidental and written by someone else.

“If you would accept a marginal delay, I would not be opposed to providing you with a meal after our shifts.”

“You don’t have to do that, really.” Kirk moved to leave.

“Captain, I—Jim.”

Kirk stopped.

“I would consider it to be—” Spock’s tone was different now, as if he were attempting a foreign custom he was doubtful of his ability to perform, “—an enjoyable activity.”

“You would?” Kirk said, stunned as much by Spock’s choice of words as their meaning.

“If you would find it agreeable to meet me in my quarters.”

It was a question, even if it wasn’t stated as such, and Kirk was nodding the answer even before he spoke.

“Yes, alright. I’ll see you there.”

Spock’s own nod was more restrained, but there was something in his eyes, an earnestness, that hadn’t been there before.

During the rest of Kirk’s shift his thoughts returned to that look with more frequency than any other subject. Even more than his plans to ask McCoy, the next time he saw him, just when exactly M’Benga had started calling him “Sweetheart.”

 

#

 

The thing about confidence was that having it wasn’t nearly as important as the ability to fake it. Kirk straightened his shoulders and took a slow, steadying breath before he activated the chime on Spock’s door.

“Come,” Spock said, and the door slid open.

Inside, Kirk saw that the bouquet was now prominently displayed in a heavy, almost medieval-looking vase on Spock’s desk. It was touching that Spock had taken the time to present it.

Eventually he would have to tell Spock he hadn’t written the card. And he would—as soon as he found the right moment.

“Hello, Spock.” Kirk smiled, and then he noticed the two dinner trays beside the roses. “You ordered for us?”

“Affirmative, Captain,” Spock made a slight incline of his head as he stepped out of the way for Kirk to take a seat.

“I usually prefer to order for myself, but—”

“I cross-referenced the selections on the food synthesizer with your medically recorded allergies. Everything is safe for your consumption.”

“That was—” _not the point_ , “thorough, as always.” Kirk lifted the cover off the tray. His eyes widened. “But aren’t you a vegetarian?”

“Indeed.”

Kirk suspected that, despite the lack of outward indicators, Spock knew he had failed to answer Kirk’s real question.

“Then why did you order me a cheeseburger?”

“You are mistaken. That is not a cheeseburger.”

Kirk waited for a moment, but when nothing else was said he carefully lifted the edge of the bun to look. He saw only a small, round patty, melted cheddar and stacks of something green and leafy.

“Is this a joke?” Kirk asked.

“It is not,” Spock gave a slight head tilt, “it is Satan.”

“It’s—” Kirk blinked, “it’s _what_?”

“While the pronunciation is similar to the name of a figure in one of Earth’s religions,” there was mischief present in Spock’s eyes, if not his tone, “it is spelled S-E-I-T-A-N.”

“And it doesn’t come from an animal?”

“It is comprised of a mixture that is, primarily, texturized, vital wheat gluten, water, and chickpea flour. The substance covering it is also a wheat derivative, with oil, onion, and turmeric added to increase its mimicry of an aged dairy product.”

Kirk did not grimace.

“It was my intention to offer you something as equally satisfying as one of your regular selections. If it is not acceptable, however, a replacement may be ordered.”

Kirk licked his lips as he thought about it. It was tempting. But there was a chance that if the evening went well, and things led to— _other things_ —then maybe Spock would appreciate it if Kirk’s breath didn’t taste like dead animals.

“That’s alright, I’m always open to new experiences.” Kirk shrugged. “But don’t expect me to give up meat all the time.”

Spock almost looked offended. “It would be illogical for me to make such assumptions.” He opened his own tray, and revealed what looked like a salad. Or what had once been a salad, but had then been sorted and separated into neat little piles.

Kirk was suddenly grateful that Spock hadn’t chosen to order him that.

The burger was better than he expected. Not better than what could be prepared from scratch, but it wasn’t much different than the cheeseburgers available on the ship, and it was a significant improvement over what came out of a protein resequencer. He told Spock as much.

“There is little reason in preferring one food over another, provided the nutritional content is adequate,” Spock said, but Kirk could tell he was pleased.

“Of course not.” Kirk leaned over the table. “Just like there is no reason to prefer one position on one starship over another—or to prefer a specific dinner partner over any other one.”

Spock mirrored his action, and Kirk’s pulse quickened as the distance between them closed.

“As it would also be illogical to prefer flowers intended for one recipient over those that have been given to multiple recipients.”

Kirk straightened, his mouth suddenly dry.

“But I do concede that my response when they were presented to me from you, varied from when they were initially given to me by Uhura.” Spock folded one hand neatly over the other.   

Kirk closed his eyes. “Uhura gave you the flowers.”

“Affirmative.”

“And she wrote the card—to you.” Kirk sighed. “Spock, I’m sorry—”

“There is no need.”

Kirk was unable to tell if the flat, even tone meant “there is no need because I find you hopeless” or if it was more “I have forgiven you and your human error.” Uneager for clarification, he was silent. Until another question occurred to him.

“How did M’Benga get them if they were your flowers?”

“I gave them to him.”

“You—why would you do that?”

“It was Uhura’s idea.”

“I—I think you may have misunderstood how Valentine’s Day works.”

“The flowers were given to me as a token of friendship. Specifically, Uhura intended to make the Earth tradition easier for me to follow, and she suggested I give the flowers to someone as a Valentine’s Day gift.”

Kirk frowned. “Including the card?”

“After giving the matter due consideration,” Spock looked down briefly before returning his gaze to Kirk, “I believe I was expected to keep that.”

Kirk didn’t smile at Spock’s admission, even if he did find it endearing. “And so you chose M’Benga?”

“He arrived at my station shortly after I had acquired the flowers. Uhura was not pleased with my choice in recipients, but she was not offended by my actions.”

“Why wasn’t she pleased?”

“She had suggested you.”

“Me?” Kirk paused. “Then why didn’t you?”

Spock pulled back from the desk, his spine forming the straightest of lines. “I was unable to predict your response to such a gesture with a preferable degree of accuracy.”

Kirk’s smiled. “You were nervous.”

“That is not a condition I experience.”

“Well, it’s one I experience, especially when—wait, why _did_ you let me try to pass Uhura’s card off as my own?”

“I surmised that you had not seen the card, and I was curious what your response would be if you believed that I thought it was from you.”

Kirk chewed on his lip while he processed the information. “It would have been worded differently if it had been from me.”

“Obviously.”

Kirk’s eyes went to Spock’s. “Obviously?”

Spock nodded.

“Explain.”

“The probability of you referring to me by the name of ‘sweetheart’ is exceedingly low.” There was the suggestion of amusement in Spock’s expression. But it wasn’t the kind that came from enjoyment, but rather from the absurdness of the idea that Kirk would ever think of him in such a way, or even speak to him with affection.

That would have to change.

Kirk reached across the table to capture one of Spock’s hands between both of his. “You’re wrong about that.”

Spock’s eyes widened, but he didn’t pull away.

“I’m _going_ to call you sweetheart, in honor of what brought us together.” Kirk paused to search Spock’s face. “Unless you regret what happened—”

“I do not. I found the results—most agreeable.” Spock looked at him with something resembling warmth. “It made it possible for us to express what we were unlikely to have otherwise.”

“I’d have gotten there eventually,” Kirk said, shaking his head. Then he grinned. “Sweetheart.”

“I fail to see how that can be an accurate statement.”

“It suits you.” Kirk ignored Spock’s look of skepticism. “But if you don’t agree then we’ll have to test it out and see if I can change your mind.”

“Determining the saccharine content of my heart, in addition to being unpleasant, would be difficult to test.”

“It’s ‘you are a sweetheart’ not ‘you have one’ and you know it.” Kirk stood and moved around the desk, never letting go of Spock’s hand as he tugged him to his feet. Kirk whispered in his ear, his tone low, “Right, Sweetheart?”

“Jim,” Spock said, and there was a faint, but distinctly pleading quality there. Whether for him to cease or to continue—or a combination of both—was hard to determine. He’d have to experiment with that too.

“But if you really don’t want me to call you that, then I won’t.” Kirk pressed his lips to the side of Spock’s jaw before stepping back.

Spock extended two fingers and traced them down the side of Kirk’s face. “You may call me anything you wish.”

 

 

 

 

 

Artwork by [RowanBaines](../../users/RowanBaines/pseuds/RowanBaines) can be found [here](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/rowanbaines/67372826/2847/2847_original.jpg).[  
](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/rowanbaines/67372826/2847/2847_original.jpg)


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